Life's a Witch
by BatsintheBellfry
Summary: Having a life and hunting will never go well together will they? Teenchester. Hurt!Limp!Sam, Hurt!Limp!Protective!Dean ...minor sadism...
1. Whateversville, Somewhereast

Sam: 14  
Dean: 18

Life's a (W)itch

Sam was sitting.

He was resting his hands on his knees and studying from a physics book and hoping not to be discovered.

It wasn't like it was a crime for him to do his homework, this was just to pass the time, he was hiding from Dean.

Dean was on his last nerve lately. He was nineteen, only four years older than Sam, and he still thought he was _so_ much cooler. Just because Sam couldn't drive, Sam couldn't run a 5K in eighteen minutes, Sam couldn't get a _date_.

So Sam lied. He'd said he was going on a date with Karen Allen, who didn't exist, and that he was meeting her at the movies to see some horror film that Sam probably wouldn't watch anyway. Dean—through his utter shock—approved, and said that even though Sam hated horror movies (too much like real life), they were the best thing to take a girl to. Instant cuddling.

Sam stored this bit of knowledge in his 'maybe later' vault; he was still a bit to awkward and shy to pull anything like that.

He checked his watch, an old piece of junk that, while having six or seven buttons, barely told the time and ran slow if he didn't set it daily. He still had another half hour until the movie was over, then add a few minutes for previews and talking afterward… at least forty-five minutes, probably close to an hour before he could go home.

Sam tried to take advantage of the free time by going to the library; physics was currently ruining his 4.0 with a B, which, though thoroughly useless in his little part of the world, gave him a personal suit of armor when his brother outdid him in an exercise, or target practice, or on a hunt. Dean couldn't touch his grades, unimportant as they had proven to be. So he tried to concentrate, looking up from the book and muttering what he'd read to memorize it. "When two objects travel beside each other, their velocities are 'v2-v1'. Therefore, if you traveling at…"

"Sa-mmy." Dean practically sang as he suddenly emerged from the forest of shelves. Sam sat in a strange swirl of horror and shock; Dean? In a library? _Dean_? Catching him at the library… not of a date.

Well, this stinks.

Regardless of his stinking up Sammy's afternoon, Dean sat backwards in a chair next to his brother. "I thought your movie ran for another hour or something."

Still safe! _Lie_. Sammy ordered himself. _Lie_ _well_. "Karen got sick, she wasn't in school today. We'll catch it some other time."

Didn't even blink. _Impressive_, Dean thought. "Nice try, kid. Next time, use an actress I don't know. 'Karen Allen' was Marion Ravenwood in one of the Indiana Jones movies." He grinned in triumph.

Sammy looked absolutely devastated, and Dean's victory was confirmed. But he only basked in it momentarily, he was on business. "Come on, you gotta pack."

"Why?" Sam didn't forget his embarrassment, not for one second, but it was almost replaced with anger. "I thought Bobby said there weren't any jobs lined up." He thought he might get more than two weeks in a school for once. He should have known better than to hope, but the effect was still crushing.

"Dad can find jobs on his own." Dean said defensively. "And we got a lot of driving tonight, so hurry up." He hit his brother's shoulder lightly, prodding.

Sam slammed his book shut and started storming to the exit, probably not _trying_ to act pissy, but doing a damn good job.

So, as punishment and for Dean's own amusement, he blared 'Frayed ends of Sanity' the entire ride home, ignoring Sammy's near constant attempts to turn it down.

"You eaten yet?" Dean asked, unlocking the door and stepping over a line of salt.

"No." Sam finally recalled that he hadn't eaten since breakfast and followed his brother immediately to the kitchen.

"Me either. What do you want?"

As much as Dean hated it, he was a fantastic cook. Something Sam took advantage of as often as he could. "Grilled cheese?" Sounded really good.

Dean looked over at him, annoyed. He didn't like to cook at all. "You're so high-maintenance Samantha. How 'bout hot dogs?" Sam scowled, but food was food, so he got out buns and ketchup and paper plates as Dean popped a package of hot dogs into the microwave. Sam was so grateful when they were done that he knew he wouldn't have had the patience to wait for grilled cheese.

Sammy grabbed three hot dogs, foregoing the bun on one of them just because he still liked them plain sometimes, slathered them in ketchup, and kicked his shoes off to lounge on the couch. "So what's Dad got this time?"

Dean grabbed only two hot dogs for himself, but he was currently hunting for a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos he'd hidden for just this moment. "Something East. People going missing, weird mutilations, stuff like that." Dean wasn't really paying attention the first time he'd been told. "He'll tell us in the car." He dismissed.

_Dead people, mutilations, a damn good time._ Sammy thought morbidly. He sighed.

Dean heard, and rolled his eyes; _dad_ heard and threw a look at the back of his youngest son's head, willing him to cooperate at least until they got to the car.

Sam saw Dad coming from the corner of his eye and immediately stopped lounging. He sat up and ate his food quietly and efficiently, giving the air a colder feel and once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

Sammy was mad at Dad for moving them again, and worse, he was showing it with these snub little silences. It wasn't long until the bickering would begin.

Dean grabbed the chips and headed to his room.

* * *

It actually didn't take Sam very long to pack at all, not compared to his usual. But when Dean said as much, he was given the treat of Sarcastic Sammy telling him he had hardly _un_packed, that it was hardly worth it anymore.

Cue bickering.

Only it didn't come.

It had been like that earlier too, where Sammy was obviously pissed, but he wasn't actually going at it with Dad. Dean prayed it might be a sign for future things to come.

"Last bag, princess?" Dean asked as Sam brought out one last small duffel. Everything they brought fit neatly in the back of his Impala on top of the weaponry.

Sam didn't even bother to respond to the princess comment, he just waited to get going, looking sullen.

Dean grinned, Sam was always so picky about making sure all of his books were perfectly arranged for the least amount of damage… He threw this last bag in the back seat, rather than trying to ruin the perfectly-packed-ness of the trunk. Normally he would have scrunched it, but Sammy was being good, so he'd get a little reward: his precious books would be spared.

Dean came around the Impala to find Sam already in the front seat. Dad was already in the pick-up in front of them too, coming very close to laying on the horn.

He strolled lazily toward the door of his baby and smiled as he started the ignition and Metallica continued to blare from where it had left off earlier.

For Dean, it was the good life.

* * *

Before they even got to Whateversville, SomewhereEast, Sam was practically asleep in the car, music and open windows aside. The clock on the dashboard was currently broken, and he wasn't moving to check his out-dated watch, but it had to have been three a.m. or past.

They'd even pulled off the road for coffee. And Dean hated the stuff.

Nonetheless, it was a necessary evil, and it sloshed in docilely the cup holder, black and cold.

It had already put Dean in a bad mood. When he'd offered Sammy some, the kid had gone on a tirade about caffeine and stunted growth and other such nonsense (though apparently soda was perfectly acceptable). All Dean could say to that was the kid needed his growth stunted. He was all arms and legs, which meant he would eventually get taller, but for the last year or so he started tripping over his own feet and knocking into furniture. Not good habits for a hunter.

And after that conversation, Sammy had completely ignored him until he fell asleep. Bitch needed his rest, sure, but now what was Dean supposed to do? He was such an awesome brother that he'd even turned of the music…

So he drove.

And drove.

God, how did Dad do it? So boring…

And drove some more…

Until finally he was close to falling asleep himself, and desperately needed something to keep him awake. The coffee was all but gone, with only the smallest drops left, leaving the Styrofoam cup sitting there, mocking him. Dean picked it up with the intention of throwing it out the window (there were no other cars on the road, he was sure), but then Dad might reprove his driving. And he didn't want to deal with that tonight, or whenever they stopped.

So it sat in his hand for just a moment, before Dean carefully tried to balance it on Sammy's sleeping head. He moved a little at first, but he didn't wake up.

Dean grinned when he finally got it to sit sturdily on the teen's hair, leaning against the headrest. He slowly moved his fingers to the power button for the cassette player, making sure his eyes were on Sammy when he punched it.

Sam jumped as far as the seatbelt allowed in a panic as little forgotten drops of cold liquid hit his face. He was disoriented and restrained by the seatbelt, which wasn't helping, and he almost _literally_ had the shit scared out of him.

The only thing that stopped him from grabbing the knife in his back pocket was the sound of Dean's laughter, even louder than Metallica.

"You— You—" He sputtered for a second, realizing. "You jerk!!"

Dean just laughed 'bitch', as was customary, and chided Sam for falling asleep on him.

Sam seemed to fall asleep faster the second time just to spite him.

* * *

Sam shivered under the blankets for close to a half-hour before finally gathering the courage to face the cold morning. Even then, the only thing that finally convinced him to move was a soon-to-be urgent need for knowledge of bathroom location.

They'd gotten into town late last night, and Sam was about 3/5 sure he never woke up the entire time they unloaded the truck and Impala. He was made more sure when he stood up to find that he was still fully clothed, with his jeans making uncomfortable red marks on his legs. He stumbled to the door and out to a hallway, choosing to go left at random. He was too tired to play eenie-meenie-miney-moe.

He found stairs, and from there, the kitchen. He was popping a bagel (which, along with Lucky Charms, was the only thing edible as of yet) when Dean came down the same stairs he had. Trust Dean to wake from the dead at the smell of food. "Morning." Sam didn't even look up.

Dean 'hn'ed. But that was really the only language he had in the morning, so Sam just assumed it was a pleasant greeting.

Sam quietly picked up the laptop on the coffee table and began to open Google, not bothering to ask where their father was. He found the local newspaper online and began to search for anomalies.

It took two bagels and about a half-hour waking up period, but Dean finally started to read over his shoulder. Of course, 'read' was a relative term. Dean didn't read, he skimmed. And only the headlines, at most. "Obits?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was thinking about the mutilations and deaths, you didn't really say if there were any live victims." Or describe the mutilations, but Sam would rather read that than watch Dean portray it. His brother went into detail he didn't need, and indicated it on his own body, which was just wrong.

"None that I heard of." Dean thought back to his father's lecture. "Not that Dad mentioned." He confirmed, nodding to himself.

"Just checking." Sam excused, rather than pursuing the fact that Dad didn't know everything there was to know and could be missing crucial information to the case.

Dean watched his brother with a slight sense of unease. He'd given him the perfect bait, the perfect thing for him to latch onto and launch into an hour-long rant about how there father didn't always know everything, but Sammy didn't take it. Weird. Not bad, but weird. Dean had figured his little brother would need to be blowing off serious steam all day over what happened last night…

Cool.

"I'm going for a drive." He announced, rolling off the couch and stiffly getting into a walking motion toward the garage. "See if I can't talk to some locals." Hot locals.

_Local girls,_ Sam thought, slightly annoyed, but used to it. "See if you can't figure out where the school is. It's Sunday." He reminded gently, hoping Dean would grant the request.

He groaned, but didn't say whether he would or not.

* * *

Tomorrow, first day of school! And the hunt begins...


	2. Funeral Pyre

Sam's research had been cut short, and his father was less than pleased with the progress he'd made. Not that Sam was technically _expected _to do all the research, and it wasn't like he was being_punished_ or anything, but Sam could see the little huff he'd gotten when he told his father he couldn't narrow down whatever type of ritual killings were going on. Or even that they were rituals; that was just his current theory.

But school was school, and Sam was Sam. So neither John nor Dean was surprised to find Sammy awake and fully ready for a hell of a Monday the next morning. Dean slept in, saying that he'd been awake all through the drive and all last night (with the afore mentioned locals) and a growing boy needs his sleep, and on and on until Sam finally stormed out of the room, yelling that he'd rather _walk_.

"Class, this is Sam Kellog. His family just moved into town, so let's welcome him to school." Sam blushed, disliking his first hour teacher already. She couldn't just let him come in and sit down, no, he was a _freshman_, he had to be taken care of. In front of everyone. She even told him where to sit and asked the kid next to him to share his book. The guy was big and dumb-looking and probably never opened said reading material, but didn't look thrilled to see Sam actually sit down at look at him expectantly. Sam decided he could get along just fine without a book.

His first class went by without much hitch after that; it was Government, but a lesson they'd already covered in his last school, so he wasn't really required to listen.

His next class was right next door, and that one was a little worse. It was a junior class, not because Sam new British Literature so well, but because his last three schools had studied British Lit before American, so now he as flip-flopped. It was a little intimidating, but Mr. Keron seemed to understand that, and hardly bothered to acknowledge Sam, allowing him to keep a low profile.

The desks were lined up in pairs of two, and Sam chose between two empty desks, one next to that same kid from last hour (no wonder he was big, he was a junior) and a very pretty girl in a rather tight purple t-shirt. Sam was not stupid, he chose the girl, but after said choice he mostly stared at the desk for the rest of the hour, embarrassed and regretful. At least he knew how to deal with bullies.

School went on like that. Like it always did for Sam. It was always hell the first day, so he tried to get it over with pretty fast. He rushed to the lunchroom to be the first to sit down at an empty table and avoid that awkward line 'can I sit here?' It was pure luck that a couple of non-threatening, morbidly normal freshmen and sophomores were the table's usual inhabitants.

The first kid to sit down sat two chairs away from Sam, not totally across the round table, but not next to him either. He looked up after half-unpacking his lunch. "Um… hi, who are you?" He asked, confused.

Sam felt his jaw start to tighten from embarrassment. _Just get it over with; it's only the first day. You're fine._ He told himself. To the boy he said, "I'm Sam. I just got here this morning."

"Ah, that sucks." The boy's face cracked into a sympathetic smile and Sam nodded, grateful.

And the kid introduced him to everyone else at the table as they sat down too, and questions were now first directed at him rather than Sam. Sam sort of felt like show and tell, and the kid forgot to mention his own name, which sort of added to the awkward, but whatever. For a first day, it didn't totally suck.

* * *

By the fourth day, things were once again better at school than at home. Sam made no progress in finding out what was going on, and another kid showed up dead. She was twelve years old, blood loss from the wrists. There was no proof that it was a supernatural murder, but it was definitely possible, if not probable. Sam's dad obviously thought it was, because he was kicking his hunt into double-time, and his frustration with the lack of progress was becoming more and more obvious. Sam definitely preferred being at school rather than home now.

Sam had his own books now, so that junior in his first hour was now much more easily ignored. He stared at the front board like a dead animal, and Sam read along quietly. It was a system that worked for the both of them.

Second hour was switched up a little today. That junior sat in his seat next to that one blonde who made Sam feel awkward throughout the entire hour, so now Sam got a desk all to himself.

And at lunch, he learned that the kid's name was Alex and he had fifth hour with the guy and he was hilarious. Fifth hour was biology, so mix a dead frog and an ADD nutcase and what do you get?

"Hey Sam, I dare you to eat this." Alex grinned over a spoonful of frog eggs they'd just scraped out.

"Why would I do that?" Sam asked pushing his hand away with a grin.

"For ten bucks?"

"Dude, I'm not gonna—"

"Come on! I'm sure it's a delicacy somewhere!" He grinned maliciously.

"Yeah, so are the legs! I'll eat that when you eat those." Sam countered.

The scary part was that Alex looked down appraisingly at their project, actually considering it.

"Dude, don't." Sam warned.

"I guess I could lick them, but we sort of need that part for our project…" Alex considered, leaning into the table and looking.

"You're sick." Sam turned away, feeling his stomach trying to flip at the thought. But he found himself grinning.

"Alright, I'll lick the legs if you take a bite of the eggs." As though it was a serious deal.

"Hell no!" Sam channeled his brother for a moment and swore, but laughed while he did it.

"Fine," Alex pouted. He ducked back into the project and pretended to pay attention. "Look out." Mr. Paarlburg walked behind them for a moment, observing the class' progress. The instant he left Alex looked back up. "I bet you he's gay. But not 'cause he's really gay, just because he's afraid of women. His wife is like 4'4"."

Sam had no idea how to respond to that, so he just looked at him. Until the thoughtful expression and the randomness of the subject forced him to laugh, too loud from being restrained.

The teacher looked back at him, and Sam quietly tried to identify the different intestines, but his hand kept shaking.

"Dude, I'll bet—"

Alex's next thought, wherever it may have come from, was cut off by a loud whooping sound over their heads. Everyone, including Mr. Paarlburg, started whipping their eyes from one alarm to the next before he finally instructed, "Fire drill, people. Get outside to the main entrance to the school and stay in a group." He ushered out the students through the door of his classroom and closed it soundly behind them.

"Thank God, I hate it when they wait until winter to do all the fire drills." Alex babbled. "At least this way we don't _freeze_!" And it was true. The weather was still fairly warm out for the beginning of October, but if the leaves were any indication, it wouldn't stay that way for long. "Not like there's any point to fire drills anyway. I mean, if there was really a fire, everyone wouldn't just go calmly—"

They made it outside, and looked back up at the school.

Fire licked the windows in a classroom only a few yards away from theirs.

"Oh my God." Sam stared. He'd seen things burn, hell, he'd freaking lit up _graves_, but this was… shocking. Chaotic and unnerving and more than a little disenchanting. School was where things were normal. Where the weirdness that defined his life retreated. He didn't know what to make of this.

"What the hell happened!?" Alex looked around at headed for the nearest teacher, but Sam lost him in the crowd. He was practically in shock, simply from his mind trying to figure out what reaction to have and him being suddenly so very alone.

_Dean,_ his mind whispered.

Oh God, where was Dean? He came to school today, didn't he? Oh please, God, let him have skipped. Let him have gone to get a burger instead of cafeteria food, let him—

Sam's phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting his impending mad-man search party. The caller ID read his brother's name. "Dean?"

"SAM!?" Dean's voice yelled back at him. "The school looks like it's going up in smoke! What the hell happened!? Are you _alright_!?"

Sam could physically feel the relief flooding through him. "Yeah, I'm fine. It looks like there's a fire in one of the science classrooms." He swallowed, counting the windows to see that it was definitely somewhere in the science wing of the school. Was there some sort of an accident?

"Was it what we're hunting?" Dean asked, no less urgent but not quite as desperate as before.

"I, uh… I don't think so. But I don't know, I can't see anything and no one seems to no anything." Sam was yelling into his phone, so he hesitated in exactly what he was saying out loud. Not like he really had a working theory, but it couldn't hurt to be careful.

"Meet me at the Impala. You know where it is?"

"Yeah." Student parking lot, left hand side… at least that's where it was this morning.

"Five minutes." Click.

Sam breathed and hung up the phone, turning for the direction of the parking lot. "Hey, where're you going?" Alex suddenly reappeared and caught him by the arm.

"My dad's not picking up his cell, so my brother and I are going to go home before he hears about the fire and freaks out." Sam lied quickly and casually.

"Oh, okay… I don't think we'll have school tomorrow, so call me okay? Especially if you find out what happened." He asked.

"Sure." Sam headed for the parking lot, picking the Impala out easily with his brother already behind the steering wheel. "The fire was started in a science room." He said, climbing into the passenger's seat.

Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he backed out of the parking space, hoping no one noticed and thought it suspicious. "You saying you think it's an accident?"

"Maybe, that's all I'm saying."

"I don't know, it seems a bit too perfect, timing-wise." He cruised down the road, sending dry leaves into a crown around the car.

Sam nodded, his brother didn't have the words 'accident' or 'coincidence' in his vocabulary. Or 'normal' for that matter. "Is dad at home?"

"Dunno, call him."

Sam grimaced, wishing he hadn't asked. But he took out his cell and called their father like a good little soldier to get grilled.

"This is John."

"Hi dad, it's Sam. Dean and I are fine, but--" He started with that first.

"What happened?"

"There was some sort of fire at the school, one of the science classrooms, I think." He had been sure it was a science class until he brought it up to his father, now he was a little less confident. "It was getting pretty big when we left, and I didn't see the fire department there yet--"

"Why did you leave?" John didn't approve. Sam wanted to say that Dean thought they should, since Dean was always right, but just in case this really was the wrong thing to do, he didn't sell his brother out, not completely.

"Dean and I wanted to regroup and figure out what happened. We figured it would be better than running around while they try to ship kids home."

"You should've stayed and seen what you could dig up."

"If we were caught anywhere even _near_--"

"Alright, I'll add fire to the list. You two get home and try to listen to the news about the fire. I have to go, bye."

Sam hung up, not responding after the little 'click' that cut him off.

Dean looked over, checking out his brother's face and wondering what he was upset about. "Wha'd he say?"

"He said he'd look into the fire and we should get home and that he had to go. Maybe he had a lead." Sam ground his teeth at the man's inability to be anything but mechanical or patronizing at any given time. He tried to smooth out his face and ignore it, and traded the anger for a blank nothing.

Dean let it go. Sam wasn't complaining, so niether was he.

The TV was turned on the second they came through the front door. Dean flopped down on the couch and waited for the local news to come on channel 3, and Sam picked up his laptop to see if fire could narrow down his list of potential supernatural suspects.

"Here." Dean suddenly leaned forward as Breaking News flashed across the screen. An attractive brunette was next, holding a microphone. "I'm here at Devon High School, where a fire has broken out amongst the upper floors. Firefighters are on the scene and claim that the fire may have started in a second-floor science classroom after a chemistry class. The principal, Mr. Franklin Wells, assure students that the classroom in question 2269 was empty at the time, and so the outbreak is being attributed to a student improperly disposing of flamable chemical. It's still a mystery as to what these chemicals may be, however, the teacher, Miss Linda Brown, is claiming that she checked the entire class before heading down to the lunchroom. It seems--" The woman turned around "Oh, oh my God. One of the firefighters just came out of the building with a child in his arms."

Sam and Dean leaned forward in unison, as though the picture quality would improve under pressure.

"It looks like the paramedics are trying to revive the boy..." The reporter was silent for a moment, while the cameras focused on the paramedics and the charred body of the kid. Sam had seen bodies burn, but this was different somehow. "The student has been pronounced dead at the scene."

The report focused back on her and she looked Sam and Dean in the eye. "A tragedy has fallen on Devon students today. We'll report again when more facts are known. With News 3, I'm Victoria Madison, signing off."

The cameras went back to the seared corpse for a moment before the regularly scheduled programming came back on. Sam felt a slow realization stabbing him between the eyes. "Oh my God."

"What?" Dean asked, as if he couldn't just be shocked at the death or even the _corpse_ (which was true, he was used to it, but still).

"I know him." Sam said incredulously. "He's in my first two classes." He'd tried to share his books for the first two days.

"Got a name?" Dean asked.

"Um, Jake? Jake... something. I don't remember." It hadn't really seemed important while he was alive.

Jeez, how twisted was that?

"Any idea what he'd be doing in a chem lab after class?" Dean asked. Apparently, since Sam had seen him, he should know all about him.

"No clue." He admitted. "Didn't seem all that interested in school work, so..."

Dean nodded, thinking. "Maybe something was diposing of his body." He thought aloud.

Sam shook his head. "No way, there would be easier, less conspicuous ways. Besides, why would--whatever this thing is--why whould it drag him to the school to burn him when an autopsy would show if he was dead before he burned?"

"You're assuming he was killed outside of the school and the thing took him there." Dean chided. Sam didn't want to believe anything bad could happen in school, it was his santuary. He needed to get over that. That thinking waqs dangerous. "What if it was just a quick fix? Was he in his first two classes?"

"Yeah, but why would it be in the school?"

Dean thought. "Well where were the other two deaths? Somewhere near there, right?"

"Not really," Sam recalled. He had been looking at the same notes for four days. "There was one outside that burger place and a little girl near her house. There's at least a mile between each one and the school. A couple miles."

Dean scowled. "Wasn't the one at Burger King a senior guy too? Went to the same school?"

Sam scowled right back. "Yeah, but then how does the little girl fit? And the animal mutilations? Those are _all_ over the place."

"I don't know." Dean sighed in defeat. "Did you come up with anything on those symbols in the mutilations?"

"Not yet."

And so, they were nowhere. Still.


	3. Something Wicked

"Sam, could you please take your assigned seat?" Mr. Hilton asked stiffly two days later. School had been cancled the Wednesday before, but apparently things were back into full swing today. There was going to be an assembly at the end of the day, to bring closure, other than that, it was business as usual. Supposedly. People were still a little spooked.

And apparently, even though Jake died, Sam was supposed to sit in the seat he stole earlier that week. He flushed furiously at being called attention to in the middle of class, but moved hurriedly back to his original seat next to the red-haired girl.

"Hey, you're Dean's brother, right?" She asked in a whisper.

Sam flicked and eye over to her, still trying to look like he was paying attention to the teacher. He nodded.

"You wouldn't mind giving him something for me, would you?"

Sam was confused for a moment. She sounded flirty, which was normal in accordance with Dean, but Sam had thought that she and Jake were dating, why else would they sit together? Maybe she was tutoring him or something, thinking back, he couldn't remember ever seeing them flirt or hold hands under the desk, or anything obvious. Still, to resume school life as normal after something like that... she obviously knew him personally. But she seemed happier today. Maybe he was a bigger creep than Sam had thought.

"Sure." Sam whispered.

She gave him a little piece of notebook paper with the words 'Rebecca 867-5309'. Sam tried not to roll his eyes and shoved the note into his pocket.

The assembly was supposed to happen right after lunch, and as a result, lunch was quiet. Until Alex sat down. "So we're getting out of biology today." He smiled as though nothing was different. Maybe he just didn't know how to deal with it. Or maybe he really didn't care; he probably hadn't known Jake, and sure it was a tragedy, but all it did to affect him was get him out of school for a day and a half.

"I'd rather be in class." Sam said glumly. The last thing he wanted was to sit through a tear-jerking lecture about how much Jake's death affected them all as a student body and as individuals. He knew that there would be tears, and he knew that he'd get a stomach ache thinking that it may not have been an accident.

Alex nodded thoughtfully. "Me too, I think. Wanna skip?"

"You can't skip this assembly." Said another kid across the table, a short girl named Emily or Emma or something similar. "This is important."

Alex frowned at her, then looked back at Sam. "You wanna?"

Sam sighed, not really wanting to hide out in a public restroom with a kid whose emotional capacity rivaled that of a piece of toast, but not wanting to be at the assembly even more. He nodded.

* * *

They did end up in boys' bathroom before the assembly, simply sliding out of the mass into the doors and not coming out again until the noise died. Alex peeked around the edge of the door as though they were going to get busted for drugs rather than sent to the gymnasium. "I think all the teachers are in there." He said back to Sam. Sam grabbed the door handle and swung it open, not enthusiastic enough to deal with Alex's melodrama. If he started humming Mission Impossible (and there was a decent chance he would) Sam might just go home.

"Hey, hey wait!" Alex caught up to him as he started down the hall. "You wanna go check out that classroom?"

Sam stopped and looked back at him. "Dude--" he was going to rebuke him. They would obviously get in trouble, suspension if not worse. And the last thing he wanted was to spend more time at home.

...On the other hand, taking the initiative would be different. Might even win him praise. And they might be able to solve the case and save a life. Sure they'd move sooner, but now that people were dying... he wasn't a selfish person. Not more than average, anyway.

He sighed. "Sure, fine."

They headed down the hall and up the stairs, and down another hallway. They were going to get caught. Who would honestly leave a crime scene unguarded in a high school? There were kids dumber than them who would want to see for themselves. Every corner they turned, even when a corner was in sight for someone _else_ to turn around, Sam was sure they'd get caught.

But they continued all the way to the police line without anyone stopping or even _seeing_ them.

"Would you calm down?" Alex asked suddenly, making Sam jump. "No one's gonna catch us."

"I don't know, shouldn't somebody be watching this place? I mean, there's a freaking police line." Not that that really meant anything, the police weren't there during school hours and it was already considered a tragic accident, so they weren't really doing anything but going through the motions. Still, he thought _Alex_ might have enough sense to be intimidated by it. Maybe this kid was for real crazy, not the low-grade, high school kind.

"Nah, the teachers all wanna be at the assembly, so even if they thought about it, they wouldn't have said anything. They don't wanna get roped in to the job."

Sam was the one to open the door, since Alex was talking, and they slid in fast to get out of the hall and everyone who might see them. Alex whistled. "Damn, he torched the place."

The stone walls were charred in places and the flame resistant countertops were the only part of the expiriment tables that remained white. Even the floor tiles were discolored. There was one table in the back that seemed worse off than the rest, and Sam hesitantly creeped over to it.

Alex followed. "Why do you think he did it?"

"Huh?" Sam could smell the burning carbon among other things. This was definately where the body burned.

"Why do you think he blew up the room?" Alex said, as though it was obvious what he was reffering to.

"I thought it was an accident." Sam dodged, curiously checking for clues while trying not to touch anything.

Alex made a disbelieving rasberry sound. "Yeah, a science wizard sneaks in at lunch to do extra AP work and accidently blows up half the building? No chance."

"Science wizard?" Sam asked. Jake didn't seem like the type.

"Yeah man, he was tutoring me in bio. He's a freaking genius with chemistry though." Alex finally seemed to become a little less than comfortable being in the same room a kid died in. He still looked thoughtful though, somber, but thoughful.

"Hm." So Sam was wrong, Jake was smart. He felt sort of sorry for thinking otherwise. That narrowed down the possibilities of what it could be, even if it only proved it wasn't an accident. The only normal answer was, "Suicide then, maybe? That's..." He was going to say 'a hell of a way to go', like his brother or dad would, but they were used to death. He didn't want to seem heartless in front of a normal person, so he let it trail off.

Alex picked up the trail. "Impossible."

"Huh?"

"It's impossible, he wouldn't do that." Alex said adamently.

Sam felt bad. Obviously Alex really liked the guy, which probably meant he was a good guy, but Sam didn't know how to console him. "You think you know a guy." It slipped out before he realized how horrible a thing it was to say.

"I did know him." Alex snapped harshly. "I know my goddamn brother."

There was a quiet moment, where Sam was able to fully realize what his friend said. But Alex decided he didn't want comfort just as Sam tried to give it.

"Alex--"

"Let's go." He seemed like a different person, now that he'd snapped. He lost his shine and his happy, ADD attitude and he seemed a couple inches shorter in his slouch. "The assembly's probably getting over about now. Let's just go."

* * *

"Hey Dean, you know that senior, Rebecca?" Sam asked, after waiting in the Impala for ten minutes to go home. Dean was always late with somebody, so he simply spread his homework across the dash and waited. It wasn't even worth the fight anymore. That, and Sam needed the distraction. He still wasn't sure about what happened with Alex in the classroom.

"Red-head? Globes on her chest?" Dean asked curiously.

"Uh, yeah." Sam rolled his eyes and tried not to blush at the comment, started digging in his pocket for the number.

"Yeah, we got first hour together, what about her?"

He gave his brother the note, and Dean took it with a victorious, savoring grin. "Heh, excellent." Over-confidence. Sam returned to his reading English homework to avoid his brother. "Hey, do me a favor and just pretend you lost this, okay? So I can ask her for it again."

"Why--?" Sam cut off the question half-way out of his mouth. Dean knew what he was doing, even if it was completely backwards logically. "Sure." He said, resigned, still not feeling up to fighting, even if the normalcy would make him feel better.

Dean knew his brother was upset, hell, Sam was generally upset about something. But apparently knowing the victim was too much for the guy. "So how were your first two hours?"

"A little awkward." He answered honestly, then, easing into the subject. "How was the assembly?"

Dean did a double take.. He'd definately skipped the first hour of school, but he'd shown up to the assembly at the very least. The way Sam asked it sounded like he'd skipped... "You weren't there?"

"I was taking the initiative." Sam couldn't help a little smile at his brother's gasp, even with as somber as he was feeling. "I went to that classroom, 2269."

Dean was a proud brother at the moment, he put the Impala in reverse and backed out of the parking place, breaking every speed limit to get onto the road. "Whadja you find?"

"Well, Jake was aparently pretty smart. He was tutoring my friend Alex in biology. Quote 'He was a science wizard'."

"So... what? He lit up the classroom on purpose?" Dean wasn't sure if he believed that.

Of course he wouldn't, suicide was too human a response when there might be a monster lurking. Sam sighed. "I guess."

"Principle said it was a propane thing at the assembly."

Sam nodded. "The propane from the bunsen burners. I thought I smelled something. I doubt anyone who knows that lab could have accidently turned it on, waited the exact amount of time it would take to burn him and the classroom up, without letting it spead to the other classes, and them lit the match." He mused.

"So, you finally convinced it wasn't an accident?" Dean flashed a superior grin, spinning the wheel into the apartment's parking lot.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, and his brother said that it couldn't have been suicide. It might have just been denile, but..." He shrugged.

"You talked to his brother?"

"Yeah... he's a friend of mine."

Oh, that was the depressive thing. Dean turned off the car and took the time to hit his brother softly on the shoulder before heading up to the apartment. Sam knew what he meant, especially when he added to it "You want some food?" Dean would cook, and that was a condolence and reward alike. "I guess we don't really have to go back tonight either, since you already went. What'd you see?"

"Honestly, nothing that pointed to the supernatural. And I _did_ look." He threw a look at Dean that challenged him to argue, because Sam had kept an eye out whether he thought something would be there or not. "No sulfur, no ectoplasm, no nothing that would indicate anything supernatural. Not even any symbols from the mutilations, and believe me, I looked for those."

Dean nodded. "Alright, I'll let Dad know and we'll check out the corpse for anything tonight."

Sam nodded slowly. That 'we' didn't generally include him, as it was hard for a fourteen-year-old to find an excuse to be found in the morgue. "Let me know." Was all he said. He was grateful to not have to be there.

* * *

"Hello?" Sam picked up his cell and muted the television. He wasn't really watching it, it was some Discovery show that he tried to take in subconsciously. He was on Google, looking for witchcraft symbols.

"Hey Sammy?" It was Dean. "We finished up at the morgue."

"Any new symbols?" Sam asked hopefully. "Did you check the back of his neck?"

"Yeah, yeah, we checked everywhere. Nothing. If there was anything there, it's gone now, but he was charred pretty good."

Sam sighed. "So nothing?"

"Well, we did find a freaky-looking necklace in his old stuff. A black heart, some sort of stone, definitely not guy's jewelry."

Sam didn't ask how they got their hands on his stuff. "What are you thinking? Witchcraft?"

"I don't know. I think it would point to that, don't you? Dad agrees."

Sam nodded as though they could see him and clicked the 'Next' button at the bottom of the computer screen. Dad and Dean agreed, so it didn't matter if they were right or not. He scanned the page as they talked just low enough that he knew they were talking, but couldn't quite hear. He sat straight up. "Dean? Was the heart hollow?" It might be their first break.

"Huh?" Dean wasn't listening. "Not hollow really, but the thread went right through a hole in the middle. Why? You got something?"

"I just might. If I'm right, it's definitely witchcraft. Live witchcraft. No ghosts." Which was a possibility, strangely enough.

"We're pulling into the apartment now, be right up." Click.

Sam read the page a little more thoroughly as he waited. There was a spell on the website he was reading about a lodestone necklace. Lodestones were magnetic, so it made sense that the spell he was currently reading was a love spell. Sort of. It was more of a 'love me or die' spell. Heavy duty stuff with all the works, including graveyard dust.

Which was counter intuitive. A teenage boy with a love spell on him would lead him to believe that the witch was a teenage girl, probably messing around and not knowing what she was doing. This was difficult stuff, considering he'd read hundreds of others that seemed much simpler.

Dean opened the front door to see Sammy sitting on the couch, biting his thumbnail and staring at the computer as though the words on the screen would rearrange themselves if he looked hard enough. "Whatcha got?" Dad followed him in curiously.

Sam turned the screen toward the two of them. "Love spell, with a lodestone that would be exactly like the necklace you found."

"Love spell? Seriously?" Dean asked, slightly mocking.

"Yeah, some hoodoo, I think. The thing is, it's not some teenage girl love spell. It's more of a 'Love me or die', obsession thing. Pretty dark and super complicated."

"So, you think some old lady is casting these spells on a teenage boy?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged. "Creeper."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Maybe not an old lady... or maybe she needed him to do something for her, assuming it's a her." He shrugged, trying to picture the mindset of a human being with that kind of power.

Dad had the laptop now, looking over the page and pressing the 'back' button to see where Sam was getting his information. He couldn't just trust Sam, that would go against everything he believed in. "Are you sure this is a viable spell?" he asked.

"Yeah." Sam was as sure as he could be. It wasn't like he accepted everything he read online. Honestly. "I was cross-referencing lode-stone spell while you were coming up the stairs." If his father couldn't praise him for that sort of work-aholic, Dean-ish attitude, then it was impossible.

"Excellent. Good work Sammy."

...Well, that was it. He said it. He sure as hell didn't sound very enthusiastic though. It was one of those in-passing things that meant absolutley nothing, like asking someone 'how are you?' Nobody actually cares when they say it, it's more of a slip of the tongue. That sucked. Sam waited patiently for the laptop back. "I was going to start looking at hoodoo symbols to see if I can't figure out what it's doing with those killings." He offered, trying to get it without rushing his father.

Dad eventually handed the laptop back, getting off the couch and out of the apartment once more. Sam opened another internet page and checked the school lunch menu for the next day, and Dean went to the fridge for some dinner.


	4. ChChChanges

Home, Two Days Later

John walked out the door and it took all of Sam's self control not to throw something after him, or at least slam the laptop down on the table in a proper fury. Dean came out of the bathroom, took one look at his brother's face, and wished he'd waited another five minutes to relieve himself.

"Come on Sammy, Cut him some slack. People are dying here."

"I'm trying Dean! It's not like we're just gonna go cruising and find a car with a bumper sticker 'My other car is a broom stick'!" Sam was furious. "You think I don't _know_ what's going on? I'm freaking_trying_!"

Dean paused to give him a moment. "Sam, Dad doesn't expect you to find it all by yourself. But can't you see why he'd be a _little_ angry when we go on a hunt and you stay home?"

"I can do plenty at home! I found out it was a witch, didn't I?" Sam continued to argue.

"Because _we_ went out and got proof."

Sam huffed and turned on the television, not wanting to hear Dean take _his_ side again. He had worked himself into a fit of rage after being left alone with his father for ten minutes, he didn't want to do the same thing with his brother.

Dean sighed. He was about to say something to soften the words, but he was done dealing with a moody brother, an obsessive-compulsive father, and a witch hunt all at the same time. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the armchair, "I'm gone." He said happily, as though none of what just happened, did.

Sam at least granted him a glance over the shoulder in acknowledgement. He didn't have to ask where Dean was going. Friday and Saturday nights were girl-time. Unless he specifically left with their father, that is.

Dean practically jammed the keys in the ignition to start up his baby. Stress relief on wheels, Survivor blared the instant she came to life. Dean stopped to play out the air-drum solo until the lyrics rolled along, switching to singing so that he could actually drive out of their little Motel Hell.

Motel Hell, that was a good one. He'd have to use that later.

* * *

Sam made an annoyed face at the television. It might not do any good, but the stupid box should at least know the suffering it caused. He soared through commercial and meaningless soap operas alike, searching for something relevant to life in general that could occupy his brain.

He was furious. Worse than furious. He fucking hated that man.

And 'fucking', in Sam's book, was a pretty big hate.

It wasn't like he wanted a dysfunctional relationship with his father, God knew their lives were screwed up enough, it just always happened that way. It was hard to be sympathetic to a machine that had no sympathy for him.

Sam played with his pant leg, tugging on it lightly. The TV stood still on the cooking channel, forgotten.

Sympathy was something Sam would give his right leg for. Hell, he practically had. The werewolf job they'd taken was almost six months ago, but Sam had been expected to be back on the job as soon as he could limp. That was freaking exhausting.

He pulled up the denim fabric and looked at his trophy scars, four long ones across and down and one zig-zagging jaggedly across them. Four fingers and a thumb. H was pretty freaking lucky, thanks to Dean. He'd nearly been bitten.

Could-have-beens aside, the wound was still pretty freaking bad. Sam had actually ended up in the hospital for stitches just because of how messy the wound was, and it was a dispiriting experience. He'd much rather Dean did it like usual; Sam knew Dean, he trusted Dean if if Dean thought his medical skills were below par. That doctor back in Pennsylvania? Sam didn't know jack shit about him, except that his name was Jack. It kicked up his blood pressure a bit and made the whole thing worse all around.

But the worst part was not the stitches, or that he was slow for who knew how long after that, or even the look on Dean's face when he'd caught up to the werewolf and found Sam. Those things were over and done. Dean had regained his usual swagger after the next full moon proved to be a false danger, and Sam could run again almost as fast if he was trying hard enough to not favor his injured leg. No, what was still bothering him was the crippling fear of hunting.

Hunting was scary as hell anyway, having your body react with more than adrenalin though, made a job into an ordeal every time. Instead of fear giving his heart the usual mild jolt, it locked his brain out. His brain and most of his body. His leg would itch, and his fingers would shake, not noticeably unless he actually thought something was after them at the moment of course, but it was enough. And he wasn't all that much of a help anyway. Dean could shoot better, run faster, fight better. Sam simply wasn't necessary out there, so why go? Honestly, with Sam at home, they had gotten through more jobs than usual. No training little Sammy was saving lives, probably. But Dad still couldn't be happy with that.

What a merciless dick.

Sam sighed, replacing the jeans over the still-pink flesh and looking back up to see that the commercial was over and Modern Marvels was back on. Nothing like the atom bomb to put things in perspective.

* * *

"Holy bed-knobs and broomsticks Batman." Dean grinned as he walked in after his date. Sam looked away from the microwave to see his brother's rumpled shirt and didn't ask what the good mood was about. "I hope you're night was as good as mine, Sammy."

Sam ignored him some more, then broke his reserve and Sarcasm reared its ugly head. "I had a great night. In fact, I solved the Jack the Ripper case, balanced the national budget, and cured cancer."

Dean, damn him, played along, nearly ruining Sam's bad mood. "Atta boy, what do you say we tackle memorizing Pi next?"

Sam could play along to that one too. "Pi, 3.1415926535--" The microwave cut him off at just the right time, considering he didn't know any more. Honestly, the only reason he knew that much was because it was hanging up in his math classroom and he paid more attention to the poster than the class.

Dean shook his head, still smiling. "That dinner?"

"Sure." Sam pulled the spaghetti-o's out and pushed it onto the table, grabbing another can for himself. Whichever can Dean ate wouldn't really matter, considering Sam's distraction from stopping the microwave would leave that bowl cooling as long as it would take the other to cook.

Dean fell into the chair in front of said dinner and became slightly more serious. "Seriously, anything happen? Dad come home, more homicides--?"

"If Dad came home their would be homicide either way." Sam rolled his eyes and, thankfully, Dean didn't remind him that Sam didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating their old man.

Sam's face suddenly darkened. "Actually, I think I found something on the marks in those mutilations."

Dean was serious (well, more serious) too. "What?"

"They're completely unrelated." Little Sammy looked ready to kill. Exactly like the last time he'd looked when he got a B on his final English project. Scary, Dean thought with more than a little humor. "They're symbols from everywhere, African, Old English, I bet I could find one from Transylvania too. There's no connection."

Dean waited to see if he would say (rant) more, but he didn't. "At least we know what the symbols are now. That's progress." He tried to encourage. "What do they do?" Keeping Sammy talking in that lecture voice of his was the easiest way to still whatever anger he'd been ruminating in all night, so Dean obliged.

"They're pretty diverse too, white magic, red magic, freaking rainbow magic."

Dean stared, waiting for an explaination of the Greek he was hearing. Witches weren't his strong suit, since they'd never faced one before. He really only knew the things they'd fought: demons, shtrigas, werewolves, but never a witch.

Sam saw the waiting face and sighed. "White magic is for protection, from the best I can tell, and reds are seals and curses, and there are luck things and things that I still don't know about thrown in too."

"So... could any of this magic be what's making it so long to find her?" Daen asked, thinking about the protection ones.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. From everything I've seen, spells have to be pretty damn specific. She couldn't freeze us out unless she knew all our names and faces, and we're usuing fake names anyway, so..." He sighed, his anger gone with his brain kicking into gear. "But I told you those spells--especially the one on that necklace--those are pretty supercharged. She might be powerful enough to know something I couldn't find."

"Okay, so say we find her. We kill her with silver, yeah? What happens if these protection spells are in the way?"

"We can't just kill her with silver, we've got to go through this whole gruesome process of burying the heart in one place, drowning the head and torso and burning each limb separately while it's facing a diferent cardinal direction." Sam spouted the information that he'd actually found the first day. The only easy day there ahd been this whole trip. "But we can trap her with fire."

Dean didn't think he was looking forward to that. Ew. He'd do it of course, but why were things always so messy _after_ everything was dead?

"As for the protection spells, I don't know. Fire keeps coming up, something about traping the witch in fire, but only from the sources that say she's a rebirth from the Salem Witch Trial time period. So I really don't know, fire might strip her powers, but it might not."

Sam glowered at his brother when he let out a sigh, but he wasn't really mad. It wasn't much to go on, he knew, it was just the best he could do.

And to make the night suck that much more, he still had math homework due tomorrow.

* * *

School, Next Day

"Dean!"

Dean looked up to see a beautiful redhead waving at him, with a smile she wore so well. A smile that always seemed to be just for him. He lifted his hand in a return wave and when she started to walk toward him, he withdrew completely from the two guys he was talking to.

"Look out, it's the girlfriend." Grumbled one of them, Ray, while he rolled his eyes.

Dean ignored him for the moment. "Hey," Becca reached him and kissed his cheek, still smiling. "How was history?" Dean had a project due last hour. It was... nice that she remembered something he'd told her in passing that he didn't plan to remember himself.

"Fantastic. Slept through the whole thing." Dean flashed a little grin that didn't quite seem serious, but didn't seem like a joke either. He wasn't in the mood to be chided about his grades, and even if he was reasonably sure she wouldn't do that, it was easier to shrug it off.

She let him, with just a light push and a smile, she let it go. "So there's this party tonight at a friend's place, you wanna go?"

Dean thought about it. Parties were usually the only point to coming to school, but honestly, he and Becca were to the point where he didn't like to have random people on top of them from all sides. It was weird, it made him feel like he was suffocating. "I don't know..." Becca seemed slightly confused about his hesitation, and he could see a little disappointment in her eyes, so he gave in. "Sure."

She smiled instantly. "K, pick me up at my house at seven-ish?" He nodded and she went back to the friends she'd left to talk to him.

Dean turned back to face Ray and his buddy Matt at the same time. "Dude, what the hell? Were we not going to crash that party?" Matt asked rhetorically. "What are you doing bringing your girlfriend?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, it's not like you two are gonna cause any less damage without me." And by damage, Dean meant to the mood. This entire school was harmless aside from the random homicides on the streets and suicides in the classrooms.

"Whht-ch!" Ray made a whipping sound. "Admit it, man. You are _whipped_."

Dean scowled sarcastically. "Yeah, right."

"You _are_. Suddenly last week she's the only girl in the world? What the hell happened to you mourning the choice over her or Rachel?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Becca or Rachel was no contest. Maybe in looks it had seemed like it at first, but Rachel was needy and whiney and talked like a rodent whereas Becca was... fantastic. Alright, maybe he really, honest to God, liked her for more than looks, but that didn't mean he was whipped.

However, when Dean didn't dignify the argument with a response, Ray made another "Whht-ch!"

* * *

Dean came up to the Impala in a sour mood, Sam could tell. He didn't bother to ask, as his brother grinned when the car started anyway. Metallica was ruining Sam's hearing.

The mood returned when Dean's cell phone rang and he had to hit the OFF button on the volume. Sam made a face at the sudden knowledge that there _was_ an off button.

"This is Dean."

Why Dean always announced it, no one really knew. It was always Dad calling, and he knew damn sure which son he was calling.

"Dean, I need you in the graveyard tonight. As soon as it's dark."

Samn watched his brother's face change. "Uh, actually Dad, I was sorta planning something." Something with a girl, the whole family knew it.

"Cancel. I need back up on this one. There's a funeral happening now, and there's a good chance of the witch collecting some fresh graveyard soil after everyone's left."

The car was quiet for a minute, and Dean looked like he was thinking hard about something. He covered the phone and looked at his little brother. "Can you cover for me tonight?"

There was no previous experience to draw from on how to respond. Sam wasn't even sure what his brother was asking. "Huh?"

"Can you cover for me tonight?" Dean repeated. "Can you back Dad up? I doubt anything'll really happen--"

"Dean I can't, you know what happens when the two of us--" hunt together, are in the same room, breathe the same air...

"Dean?"

"Yeah Dad, just one second." He looked pleadingly at Sammy.

...Sam couldn't say no. But he shrugged in a way that let his brother know how unhappy he was about the whole thing.

"Dad?" Dean smiled at the phone. "How 'bout you and Sammy take this one?"

Silence... "What the hell are you talking about, Dean? I said I needed back up on this one." Sam looked out the window of the still-unmoving Impala. Dad didn't know he could hear. "We don't know what kind of spells this bitch is working."

Sam continued to stare angrily out the window. _He_ knew which spells were in play, goddamn it. How was it that Dad was always so reckless when Sam said be careful, and over-cautious when he knew what the hell was going on? Dean caught the look on his brother's face, he started yelling into the phone, moving his thumb over the receiver.

"What? Dad--can't--you--...two--tonight--luck." He hung up. Guilt was not something he was accustomed to. He'd never done anything like that before, not to his father. The appalled look from Sammy wasn't helping either. "What?"

The youngest Winchester held up his hands non-threateningly and they finally pulled out of the school parking lot.

* * *

Dad came to pick up Sammy at six o'clock. It was nearing the middle of October, so it was getting dark faster and staying that way longer. This, for the life of a hunter, was the shittiest part of the year. And Sam thought that this fact was made plenty of times worse by the fact that it was cold.

Nothing, however, was as shitty as the mood Dad was in when he came in to find that Dean had actually skipped out. "Get in the car." He'd commanded when he came in the front door. He wasn't furious at Sam, life didn't hate the poor boy that much, but he was in a hell of a mood and Sam knew that it was just a matter of time before he did something wrong and Dad's wrath fell upon him.

Sam tried to keep the pace up as Dad led him down the stairs into the front seat of his old pick-up. The key turned in the ignition without a word from either of them, and they were gone.


	5. Holy S!

Okay, before even beginning this chapter I have this to say: 27 Story Alerts? Holy heart failure Batman! You all make my heart sing! ...But eight reviews? It can also cause one to fall into the pits of despair. If the story is to conclude, (and I should hope it does, for if Sam and Dean are left in character limbo at the end of this chapter, I doubt I'll ever hear the end of it) I would really appreciate some feedback or constructive criticism. I even take suggestions if that's all you can think of.

* * *

Sam...

...had screwed up.

Even when there was absolutely no way for him to possibly mess up while sitting alone, staring at a graveyard for hours, he'd managed it.

By one o'clock in the morning, seven freaking hours after getting there, nothing had happened. Not a rustle of leaves in the wind, no heavy, crunching footfalls, oh sure, a squirrel had gone by about an hour ago.

Sam sat with his butt on the cold, wet, October ground. He'd giving up on a squatting ready position somewhere in hour four. His flair gun was readily available, but the only thing keeping _him_ ready was the stress from knowing that he hadn't finished his Biology project that was due tomorrow. Hell, that was the only thing keeping him _awake_.

"Sammy, stay alert." Dad meant well, probably, but Sam was fourteen years old and growing. His body wasn't allowing him to stay alert. So he ignored the command.

Until the wind actually did pick up. Then he brought his knees to his chest and huddled. A fall jacket was enough for a cool October _day_, sure, but at _night_...

He eventually returned to squatting and balancing on his toes, trying to keep himself warm by huddling his legs and chest together, and dry by not sitting on the cold, wet ground. He wanted to go home. He had a government test in the morning that a lack of sleep wasn't doing any favors for, and Dean himself said that he didn't think anything was going to happen. Dad was just being stubborn. Again.

Dad cocked his gun with only the quiet, tell-tale 'click' that sent Sam to frantically looking about the cemetery. There was definitely someone out there. A small, feminine someone.

Dad's gun was loaded with silver, and while it wasn't the way to ensure that a witch's soul couldn't return, Sam had to agree that it would definitely slow down the witch's human body. Sam took aim with his flair gun as well though, just in case.

Dad made eye contact with Sam and looked off to the right, then back to see if he understood. Dad wasn't as good with the whole silent communication thing as Dean, but Sam understood. They were going to trap her.

Sam pointed at himself and then held up a single finger. Dad shook his head. Dad was shooting first, nailing the witch as hard as he could, and when she ran (which was likely), Sam would have a close shot.

And so they parted, Sam all the while keeping a close eye on the figure in bending low over the grave. He couldn't quite make out the face, but it was definitely a young woman, spooning the dirt of a freshly dug grave into an urn. Probably not for sentimental reasons.

He ducked low into the cemetery's carefully arranged shrubbery and waited for the first shot to be fired. He was okay tonight, having a witch running blindly away was a hell of a lot less scary than having an enrage werewolf running at you. He was okay to be here, to do this, even though Dean wasn't there, just like last time, and even though he could picture the witch running, still burning, vengeance on its mind…

He was fine.

The shot cracked loudly–pistol shot–with a sound that shattered his eardrum and made his heart jump a third of the way out of his chest. He was sure his ribs were bruised. And if he wasn't mentally scarred already, the scream the witch let out might have done the trick. It was human, but less-than at the same time. She sounded like a girl, but it rang like a death cry, long and with pain beyond comprehension. Sam swallowed as the figure turned to look over her shoulder, rising from her knees to run in Sam's direction.

Not as bad as a werewolf. Not as bad.

He aimed.

Not as bad.

He took the shot.

It would have been a great shot normally, if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't waited to close his eyes until after he'd squeezed the trigger.

Why he did it, he didn't know. He'd only ever done it once before, the first time his father had actually took him out to practice with a gun, but that had been years ago, when he was a little kid afraid of a big gun. He shouldn't be scared this time, but his body was even as he tried to calm his mind down. He hadn't made the conscious decision to shrink back, it was an accident.

But a conspicuous accident.

The shrub the flame hit combusted, lighting up the boneyard with unholy light, dancing across the grass as Sam forced his eyes open. The witch passed by in what seemed like slow motion, but it didn't hurt him and he honest to God didn't notice. The bush he'd lit up was the one his father was hiding behind.

The witch was the last fucking thing on his mind.

He couldn't make himself breathe, but his legs were working double time to get him over to the blazing bush. "Dad!?" God what did he do? It was and accident, just another in a long line of mistakes. "_DAD_!?"

but the flair gun was a one-shot deal.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the couch, watching television. He looked like he'd had a thoroughly good time at the party.

Dad was going to kill him.

Sam wasn't sure if he preferred to be on the receiving end of the look his father was giving his unwitting brother; Dean was so completely unaware of the horrible trouble he was in that Sam almost wanted to yell at him to run, get out while he could.

"Sam, go to bed." The danger in Dad's voice cleared Sam's indecision instantly, and for the first time in what Dean would call a lifetime, he listened without question.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Dean smiled, muting the TV as he finally noticed his family's entrance.

Sam stopped to tell him, but their father quickly urged "Go, Sam."

Dean's smile fell a bit as Sam disappeared through the close door to his room. "Did something happen?" He asked. He wasn't really in the mood for whatever power struggle his dad and younger brother were having at the moment, but something seemed ever so slightly off…

"Yes. She was there, Dean." John said in a calm, even tone, walking over to turn off the television set. "She was there and you were not. Care to explain that to me?"

Dean was shocked. He honest-to-God thought that his father was just being obsessive again. What were the freaking chances of a witch showing up exactly when and where he predicted, just as they started having trouble with a hunt? They'd never had that kind of luck before. "Did you get it?" He asked quickly, hungry for details.

"No, Dean, we didn't. Do you know why?" Dean was oddly relieved to hear that this hunt wasn't over yet; it was strange, but he might finally understand why Sammy always wanted to stay in one place. There were people getting hurt here, but he wanted no part of it so long as it left him alone. Twisted logic, but it made sense to him now… He'd feel guilty about those thoughts later. "I'll tell you why, Dean. Because our best marksman preferred to have a beer with the guys."

He was struck. _He'd_ let the bitch get away? He hadn't even been there! Sam was never blamed for things turning South because _he_ wasn't there. And he wasn't. Frequently. Dean had missed one time. One. He didn't deserve this. "You think this is my fault?"

"No I don't, Dean. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference having you with us tonight at all, but maybe it would have. Maybe this town would be safe tonight, rather than the victim of a psychotic bitch who gets off on murder and mutilations for a few lucky charms, but it might _not_ have made a difference. After all, that was some party, wasn't it?" John looked at him hard. "Was it worth it Dean?"

"Screw this." Dean didn't know what to do with himself right then. He was furious. Beyond furious. There weren't even words as far as he was concerned. He grabbed his coat from where it lay in a pile on the armchair and headed for the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" John was shocked; not pleasantly so.

"I'm going out, unless you think I can't handle a little death and destruction." Dean turned back to him with a look of pure sarcasm. "Or anything else you put us through every God damn day."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm sick of the hell you keep dragging us through, Sammy and me both. I wanted one night, one God damn night to raise a little hell. Now, considering I'm eighteen years old, I think that's pretty freaking reasonable." Dean sneered with a n anger he hadn't been aware of until just that moment. _"Did you know that, Dad?" _He continued in his own mind. _"I'm eighteen, now; have been for three months. Did you even notice that I'm a fucking adult?"_

"So you're telling me that a party was more important than the life of the next kid to die, Dean? Is that what you're saying? I raised you better than that."

The patronizing and utterly superior tone John was using was Dean's last straw. He belted out everything he thought could possibly hurt his father. Part of him wanted to just know that the man wasn't the machine he seemed to be, but part of him wanted to cause some damage too. His father knew how to hurt him, and he wanted to hurt back.

"Raise me? _Raise_ me!? Did I miss that somewhere? You've never lifted a finger to raise me. To raise either of us. Even when we were little, you'd dump us off at Bobby's or Jim's. Hell, they _raised_ us."

John tried to speak, but Dean didn't let him.

"And you know what, Dad? If anyone raised Sammy, it was me. Every monster I've hunted, every killer I've killed, I'm still more fucking proud of that kid bringing home a 95% on a math test than I am of any of that. You know why? 'Cause he fucking tries. He tries so hard it hurts to watch him, but you wouldn't know that, would you Dad? 'Cause you don't. Every time you move us around, every time I try to tell Sammy to get out of the car and go make friends, when did you ever say that, Dad, huh? Where the hell are you to say that to him, or me?"

"You know," Dean played his endgame. It was the worst thing he could possibly say, and he wasn't even sure if he believed it or not. But he said it, and, at least for the moment, he meant it. "By making me in charge of Sammy, that fucking demon did a lot more to raise me than you ever did."

Dean walked out the door.

He didn't come back.

* * *

See why I can't leave them here? Please let me know someone is reading!


	6. BowChickaBow Oh geez

Sam sat motionless on the bed. He'd witnessed the impossible.

He was still in some sort of shock.

Dean being in trouble was one thing, that was weird enough, but… Dean just completely cut loose on _Dad_. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

What the hell was Dad gonna do? Sam had been grounded before, sure, but Dean enforced that (more or less, depending on if he deserved it), and if Dad thought Sam was going to side against Dean, he was sorely mistaken. And this didn't seem like something a punishment would fix.

Sam heard his father walk slowly and deliberately to his room and listened to the door shut.

Maybe he should go after his brother; Dean would do it for him. But then, Dean was the one with the car, and he usually wanted to be alone when he was upset… even if most of the time he just acted like it. If Sam waited an hour, and Dean wasn't back, Dad should be sleeping deeply enough for Sam to sneak out.

Decision made, Sam's brain went back into a light shock. Dean felt the same way Sam did about their father, even though he was always the buffer in between them. Dean defended Dad all the time… but he defended Sam, too. It was never for Dad's benefit at all, or even to just annoy Sam. It had always been that way; Dean would help Sam vent or smooth his emotions and then he'd defend him.

Dean was proud of him too, that wasn't the least among his thoughts. Sam had always just gotten good grades to prove to himself that he wasn't completely inept, but… Dean had raised him. He'd never really thought about it like that; he'd always just looked up to his brother before, following him since before he could remember. But it was true, Dean acted more like a father should than Dad did. And Dean was proud of him. Even if Dad wasn't.

Sam's world still seemed to be spinning as sleep seeped through it.

* * *

Dean made sure his father was long gone before returning in the morning.

He came into the apartment well after nine, and well after Dad's pick-up was sure to be gone. He checked Sam's room out of habit and was surprised to find his little brother sprawled there, over the bed and more-or-less under the covers. Even Sam had to skip school sometimes. Dean still wasn't much in the mood to smile, but he gave the kid a small one. There was always one more for Sammy.

Sam shifted under the covers, in the throws of some dream or another, and Dean's smile grew until he saw the scars still marking Sam's leg.

Who had shot the werewolf off his little brother then? Not their father, that's for sure. And who had Sam told about his irrational fear that the claws were enough to affect him at the next full moon? Dean's smile faded quickly, and he slunk away from the doorway to make himself some food. Thinking made him hungry.

And damn did he do some thinking last night.

Did he regret what he said? For the most part, no. Was he looking forward to having to deal with whatever this was going to do to the pseudo-relationship he had with his father? Hell no. But it had to be said, it was just a shock that it had taken him eighteen years to say it.

Dean made eggs. Lots of protein, good for energy; and he felt like he was running on empty.

Sam came out quickly after the smell of food hazed into his dreams. "Dean?" He asked sleepily.

"Hey Sammy." He said it noncommittally, like he was thinking about something else, and Sam quietly slipped beside him.

"Whatcha making?"

"Scabled eggs." Dean tried to focus, even joking to use what Sam used to call his breakfast when he was little. Dean had gotten a lot of mileage out of 'scabled eggs' and 'sgappetti o's'.

"Enough for two?" Sam asked hopefully. He knew they were both pretending nothing was wrong, and that would have to stop sooner or later, but there was no harm in waiting until there was food in the both of them.

"Sure."

Sam got down two paper plates and was happy not to have to wait much longer for the eggs to be done. They sat and ate quietly, with Sam musing over the deliciousness of the food. There was just something disgusting about fast food eggs, so the homemade kind were a treat.

Sam finished off half him plate quickly, then settled down to play with the other half. How was he supposed to breech this freaky subject of Dean being emotional?

"So… How was the party?" He nearly choked. Why did he say that? It was the first thing he thought of and the completely and totally wrong thing to do. "Was Becca there?" He amended hopefully.

"Yeah, she was the one who convinced me to go. It wasn't that great of a party though. The music sucked."

"Yeah?" Sam nodded. "You know you've been dating her for, like, a week now." He pointed out. He was avoiding the subject now, but the topic of the party's rating on a scale of one-to-Dean seemed a little too close to 'was it worth it?'

"Yeah, I know."

Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean usually wasn't with a girl much longer than a week. There was one time as a freshman that he'd dated a junior for three weeks, a landslide record, but that was just because she was a junior. Dean usually didn't even 'date', he had 'dates'. Plural. "Okay then…"

"What?" Dean asked. It might have been Sam's imagination, but he sounded just a little…

"Defensive?" He asked with a huge grin. He didn't have any room to talk when it came to being defensive about girls, but this was _Dean_.

Dean looked back over the table with one eyebrow raised, "Really Sammy?" He was questioning Sam's maturity level.

Sam half-swallowed his grin and went back to eating.

"You know, I have to say Sammy, never thought I'd catch _you_ skipping school."

"It's Saturday Dean." Dean looked at him, surprised and quiet for a moment…

"Then what the hell are we doing home?" He grinned. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I have a huge Biology project due Monday." He excused.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You know what movies are playing?"

Sam shot him a poisonous look. "If you're even thinking about trying to get me in to see Killjoy 2, not only will _I_ end up killing you, but so will Dad. It's R." Sam tied the movie's rating onto the end to draw away from the fact that their father was mentioned. He was experienced in fighting with the old man, and he knew firsthand how annoying it was when Dean brought it up right afterwards.

"Ugh, c'mon Sammy, live a little." His big brother grinned, knowing Sam wouldn't want to see it. He sighed heavily anyway, for dramatic effect. "Fine, then… But I'm going." Maybe Becca would see it with him.

* * *

The movie ran until eleven, and it was no where near scary enough to keep him fully awake. Considering he'd gotten no sleep the night before, Dean thought himself lucky to have not fallen asleep behind the wheel. He walked in the apartment, past his little brother still awake with some project, and dropped into bed like a dead man.

* * *

Something rang in his head.

Dean rolled over, made careful note of where the bed ended, and reached for his cell phone. "Dean." He announced thickly. The cell didn't respond. It was off.

The ringing continued.

Dean tumbled out of bed, forgetting where the edge was in a post-sleep stupor and hit the ringing thing before picking up the house phone. "Hello?" Who the hell called on the house phone at whatever o'clock in the morning?

Who called the house phone period?

"Dean, is that you?" A woman's voice was on the other end of the line, with what sounded like tears in her voice. Dean sobered himself up immediately.

"Becca? What—"

"I'm sorry, could you please pick me up from my house? Please?" She repeated desperately, crying harder.

"Yeah, I'll be right over. What—"

"Thanks."

Click.

It was weird being hung up on by anyone but Dad, but he was a little more focused on what was going on. Becca didn't sound hurt, but...

"Wha's goin' on?" Sam peeked his head into the living room as Dean slipped on his shoes.

"Don't know yet." He said brusquely.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed a little, but he was in the middle of a growth spurt and his body demanded sleep, so he assumed Dad had called, for whatever reason, and went back into his bedroom. Dean locked the door and left.

* * *

"Go, go, go!" She cried urgently as soon as the door was shut.

Dean flew from the curb as fast as he could without squealing the tires. Becca didn't offer any immediate explanation for what was going on, and Dean didn't ask considering she was still turned completely around in her seat, watching her house disappear after sprinting from the back yard into the shotgun seat. When she finally faced forward, Dean started, "Becca—"

"Um, if you wanna... stop somewhere, that'd be okay. I don't want to waste your gas money." She said it conversationally, in stark contrast to her shaky voice.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of an auto repair shop, long abandoned after hours, and killed the engine.

"...Becca... what was that?" He didn't know how else to say it.

"Oh, I uh, just needed out of the house is all." She smiled as though he couldn't see the red in her eyes. She'd been crying.

"Becca." He said it sternly, so that she wouldn't mistake him being gently for him being stupid.

"It's nothing, really." He looked at her. "My dad and I just had a fight was all." But he saw her look away, and he knew it was more than that. Father issues. God they were everywhere. She changed the subject. "I'm sorry for calling so late, I didn't even realize—"

"It's okay." Dean cut her off before she could try to feel bad about something stupid like calling. He was glad she did. Even if they sat in silence for the next half hour. He held her hand gently the entire time.

She looked at his hand after he'd taken hers, and wrapped her other hand around it too, seeking comfort without showing it on her face. As time started to pass, she traced absentmindedly on the back of his hand and Dean watched her. She seemed so calm, so... distracted. Not at all like she'd just jumped into an escape vehicle in a Bond movie, even though it sure felt that way to him. She just breathed, evenly as if she were asleep, and traced languidly over his hand. He looked down as her finger touched him; it was pleasant. She tickled him slightly in circular patterns that wound across his knuckles. The calmness she radiated eventually let his mind just drift, still returning to his tired state as his brain slowly remembered the time again.

"Dean?" Becca asked after a long time, breaking the silence. He voice sounded like she was near sleep as well. "Let's talk about something else." She suggested hopefully.

"Hm?"

She smiled a little, seeing his eyelids droop as she continued the soothing motion. "You like that, don't you?" Referring to her hand in his.

"Hn." It was meant to be an affirmative, but he was sleepy and didn't bother to rouse himself enough to really answer. She was relaxed, and so was he. He didn't see any reason to change that yet. Look at me, so sleepy and harmless, Dean thought. He wasn't scary at all. So she should stop that tremor in her voice that still shook there, still upset by whatever had happened.

He may not have been truly harmless, but sleepy he was and he could pull off the illusion. He always could.

She seemed to find him cute then, giving him the same smile she always did and kissing his cheek softly. Her touch traced from his hand over his wrist, causing Dean to look down for another moment as the motion grew and she rocked from his hand up his arm and back again. He relaxed under her touch, knowing that she was doing the same, finally. He wished they could stay where they were for a while, in this little sphere outside worry.

She didn't seem entirely willing to pull away from him after her kiss, which was also fine with him. She rested her head against his, and they sat, once more in silence. Dean had almost fallen asleep by the time it was interrupted, but when she spoke, it tickled his ear and woke him gently. "Dean?"

"Hm?"

"Tell me a secret?" She whispered carelessly, innocently.

He was confused. "Hm?"

The air over them seemed heavier for a moment. "I don't know, just... You seem like such a bad boy, but now..." She looked at him, then kissed his mouth fully, pulling at his lips.

"Dean Kellog doesn't sound like a name at all. It doesn't fit."

Dean chose not to answer. He didn't defend himself, there wasn't much point. He kissed her back, sliding his tongue forward into her mouth to explore. She was teasing him, pushing back over his lips and then pulling half-way away from him, then coming back. She was still moving her hand over his arm in the same motion, less gently now. Dean could feel the pressure she was putting into it, turning him on. When she spoke again, Dean was almost jarred trying to remember what the conversation was about.

"That's not your name is it?"

It's common for people to question other people when they don't want to deal with what's happening to them. Dean knew this principal. He continued to kiss, and she let him for another moment before turning her head away. He kissed her neck and listened to her breath catch, pulling him onward. Kissing was easier than talking with the sluggish state his brain was in, and it could be pretty damn distracting.

"Dean, what is it? Does your Dad work for the CIA or something?" CIA? Dean thought. That was a good one, very original. Perhaps he'd go with that one to pacify her. "...Dean... Don't lie to me. Please."

No, she was crying again. Please don't cry, Dean begged silently.

"Winchester." He breathed against her skin, barely taking his lips from her. It was the only word he could think of to make her stop crying. He might've lied again, but he couldn't, not this time.

She froze for a moment, then relaxed. Dean's heart leapt when the tears were gone. Thank God. "Dean Winchester? That's who you really are?"

"Hm." She sighed with a happy relief and Dean felt her whisper.

"Dean Winchester..." As though she was testing how the name fit in her mouth. Her cheek moved against him and he knew she was smiling. "I think I love you, Dean."

Dean's fear of those words suddenly pulled him away from lesser instincts, and he completely withdrew from her, sitting back in his seat. Those words were always the ones that ended a relationship. Between that and 'parents', he was gone. Always.

But the way she looked at him... For that first moment the words hit him, the seatbelt was all that kept him in place, but now... She wasn't waiting for whatever gratification women got from hearing those words mirrored back to them; she wanted him to react, but… it was different. Like it was actually his choice to do whatever he wanted with the words. They weren't really all that scary at all when she said them. Looking her in the eye, he thought, just maybe... "I... love you too."

And she smiled. That huge regret he'd felt the first time he had used those words for a girl was nonexistent. It felt like a release. Like relief. She moved closer and kissed him again.

Something like bliss.

* * *

Okay, okay... I had to do it. As some of the more perceptive of you have probably figured out, things are getting a little more than twisted... Review what you want to see happen! If I like your idea I'll tailor to it!


	7. REVELATION

Dean woke up with a bit of a headache the next day, but damn if it ruined waking up next to a beautiful girl. He didn't really remember much between saying that he loved her and actually reaching her bedroom, but afterward…

Dean rolled over to look at her and smiled. He propped himself up on his elbow and draped over her sleeping face, kissing her lips until she smiled back at him. "Morning." She turned to reach him better before even opening her eyes.

"Morning." Dean said, almost sounding coherent as he rushed to get the word out before occupying his lips other ways.

She kissed him in pecks, not really letting him do much before sitting up. "You want breakfast?" She asked suddenly.

Dean considered food among his other options and thought it might be a wonderful break. "Sure." He smiled, wanting eggs and sausage or something delicious and hot.

Well, something else delicious and hot.

"Mm-kay. I'll make something." She offered. "You shower. Bathroom's right back there." But she didn't move him off of her, he got to choose when to do that. He waited there for a moment, still close from their most recent kiss, simply breathing there with her.

His stomach eventually got the best of him, and he did eventually obey and allow her up while he showered and shrugged back into his clothes from yesterday.

He was actually in a good mood. How long had it been since that happened? More than being in a good mood, he was _happy_. Not drunk with the guys, not celebrating lighting up another grave, just very simply happy. He practically glowed, and even though he knew the grin on his face was probably dopey looking, he left it there.

Not drunk with the guys, not celebrating lighting up another grave, just very simply happy. He practically glowed, and even though he knew the grin on his face was probably dopey looking, he left it there.

"Morning," he smiled repetitively as he found Becca in the kitchen, still in a bathrobe with the smell of eggs cooking, maybe even bacon, but he didn't see that, so it might have been wishful thinking.

"Morning." Becca turned around and smiled at him, still somehow managing to look shy, even after all he'd seen of her last night. Dean wanted nothing more than to get closer to her again, but he kept a disciplined distance. She was a virgin last night; this was probably extremely awkward for her now that the moment was over.

Instead he hovered in the door for a minute, then turned and wandered the hall behind him, already familiar with the upstairs but not with the ground floor. He peeked into a dining room, then into a living room… her family seemed to be very clean people. The couches in the living room didn't look lounged in at all, maybe sat in once or twice.

Then again, compared to the ratty mess Dean was used to, his opinion might have been skewed.

Dean smiled again, he'd almost had a moment where he started thinking 'when I grow up' again. He'd known he was going to be a hunter since he was little, but for a while he'd used to think 'if I ever had a house…' He'd think up all sorts of things. A dog being most common. If he ever had a house, he wanted a big, playful dog. And he wanted the house to feel lived in, unlike this spotless, pristine haven.

He wandered some more, leaving those thoughts behind. He didn't want to started meandering around thoughts of the future… thoughts of leaving…

He peeked into the next room down the hall, the bathroom, and then came to the first closed door he'd encountered. A library/study area. It was giant.

Dean looked in over the desk, not seeing any familiar textbooks from school. _Must be her dad's study,_ Dean figured. He wondered briefly what her old man did, the books were pretty old looking, and the furniture in this room looked expensive, but worn.

"What are you doing?" Becca asked, somehow suddenly behind him.

Dean turned, realizing how much he'd dropped his guard and slightly refreshed by the fact. "Nothing. Did I smell eggs?"

Becca glanced behind him, then at Dean's face, worriedly. He got the distinct impression that she was not allowed to disturb whatever work her father was doing.

Or maybe she didn't want to. After making her cry like that last night…

Wait.

Dean suddenly furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his girlfriend urgently. "Becca where _is_ your dad?" Hadn't they been fighting late last night?

Becca looked confused for a moment. "He had a flight early this morning for business."

Dean's brain rejected the lie instantly. If the man fought with his daughter last night, then he was there last night. And no man on Earth sat by and thought about catching early bird flights while letting his daughter make premarital love in the next room.

"He wasn't here when we…"

Becca flushed red, comical under the color of her matching hair. "No, his car wasn't in the driveway. He probably hit a bar or something for a few hours. He doesn't like flying."

He might've bought the bar story, if it was over the fight and not a fear of flying. He knew that fear; the fact was that a few _hours_ at a bar didn't help more than a shot would. 'Hours' was ridiculous.

Dean turned and went to the desk on impulse, anxiety knotting and gnawing his stomach.

"Dean don't touch anything!" Becca panicked.

Dean flipped the open book closed to see the title. It didn't exist, but there was a symbol. Whatever it meant specifically, he didn't know, but it was definitely occult.

He had just started to turn back to accuse his girlfriend, his lover, when everything faded to black.

Becca stood over him with the first hardcover she could grab, looking down regretfully.

* * *

Dean moaned, trying to rub the stiffness out of his neck… but his hands didn't want to move…

No. They couldn't move.

Dean focused all his strength into tearing his hands down from above his head, but he only came up to meet them, with pain biting into both his wrists. He could hear the chains rattling, both over his head and weighting down his ankles.

"Morning sweetheart."

Dean pried his eyes open, wishing desperately to rub them to grind the sleep out. 'Sweetheart'? A guy's voice? God, what happened?

"Who the hell are you?"

He smiled.

* * *

Sam dragged himself out of bed at eight o'clock in the morning. Who in their right mind did that on the weekends? Kids who don't have their homework done.

He had a project due the next day on the digestion process. He thought one of the cheapest things he cold do was an experiment on how different foods are processed at different rates and he was going to do that by using glasses of coke and dissolving different foods into them. The only part of the experiment he hadn't counted on, was that he had to set everything up literally the day before, or the food would be gone.

He'd gone through and found the different rates already, now he just had to set it all up and figure out what exactly he was going to say and how.

Sam went to the refrigerator and pulled out the two-liter he'd been expecting to use. "God damn it…" Sam whined aloud and looked at the almost inch of coke at the bottom. "Dean?" He called softly, knocking on his brother's door. It was still eight in the morning, but he was being timed, Dean could nap later.

Dean didn't wake up, so Sam opened the door. "Dean? Come on, I need a ride—"

Dean was absent.

Sam swept the room with his eyes, vaguely remembering Dean… leaving in the middle of the night… had something happened? It would have had to be big for Dad to call Dean in after everything that happened two nights ago. Sam dialed Dean's cell.

"This is Dean."

"Dean, hey, is everything—?"

"Leave a message."

Sam actually took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. He'd never gotten Dean's voicemail before. He didn't know Dean's phone was _capable_ of voicemail. He always had it, it was always on unless it was charging, and that was only when he was with Sam and they could be reached through his phone.

…And Dean always answered for Sam. He'd screen other calls, sure, but none from Dad and none from him.

Sam listened to the tone, asking "Hey Dean, it's Sam. Where are you? You're freaking me out being awake early." He joked slightly. "Call me back when you get this. And could you pick up a two-liter of coke on your way back? I need it for school, considering you drank my project." He hung up.

That was weird.

Sam looked at his phone again after a minute, paranoia—highly developed and acutely instilled—started to spread through his brain. He dialed another number.

"This is John."

"Hey Dad, what's going on?" It was too weird for Dad to answer when Dean wasn't, something was obviously up.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Dad sounded like he was trying to be patient. Sam almost took that as a good sign, until he remembered that it was only because he was the good son at the moment.

Not the favorite, but the one that wasn't pissing him off at least.

…Still weird. Weird_er_.

"Is Dean with you?"

"No. I have to go, Sam." He hung up.

Red flags were up and waving in Sam's brain. Something about Dad sounded off and Dean was officially MIA. He grabbed the laptop and went onto their cell's GPS system. He already had Dean's passcode memorized. Not paranoid, just prepared, he told himself.

He Google-mapped the address the computer gave him. It was in a normal housing development, in a normal house, under the normal name Averson.

Averson… Where did he know that name from?

Oh.

_Oh_.

Awkward.

Rebecca's last name was Averson. Dean was at Becca's house. He probably was still asleep, as per normal, just not at home.

Sam always knew that Dean wasn't exactly a nun, but it was the first time Sam could ever remember him _sleeping_ _out_. It went against his 'be ready to book in case of hell' code. And that left Sam alone just a little longer than he was comfortable with. Sam was always a little annoyed at his over-protection, but now that it was absent…

He just hoped this was just part of that fight with Dad. He didn't want this whole being ditched thing to become habit.

Whatever.

He threw on some clean—semi-clean, if he were honest—clothes and jumped into his tennis shoes. He didn't have time to wait for Dean to sober up, check his messages, and decide whether or not he was actually going to go to the corner store to get soda just to have it be 'wasted' on a school project. It would be faster just to run the half-mile and get it himself.

* * *

Dean glared, furious. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Isn't it obvious Dean? The warlock you've been hunting? Ring a bell?" He degraded, smirking. "Though I guess _you've_ been a little preoccupied. Haven't hunted much at all lately, have you?"

Dean's heart punched his ribcage painfully. "Where's Becca." The last thing he remembered, he was with her.

The guy turned to look at the guilty looking red head coming through the door on cue. She looked at Dean, apologizing with her eyes. "You son of a bitch, let her go." He had to be holding her there somehow. A spell. Whatever. Something had to be responsible for her being there with that pitiable, sorry pout on her face.

He smiled again. "Sorry Dean, can't do that. You see, she gets too far away from this—" he held up a little Barbie-like doll with red hair. "—and she'll… well, poof."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Why would he do that? Why not just chain her up too? Sadistic bastard.

He groaned dramatically. "Don't you get it? Jesus Dean, she's a doll. And I'm not talking about on a dinner date." He muttered something into the ear of the toy in his hand and ran his fingers over it's hair, making it turn from red to blonde.

Becca's hair changed to match.

"You like blondes, Dean? I'm partial to busty brunettes myself."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean repeated, confused and anxious. He was on the brink of being seriously worried, to the point of impaired judgment.

"Rebecca isn't real, Dean." He said it in the tone of a worried, sincere friend.

Dean looked to Becca. Blonde, guilty looking Becca. The girl he'd risked murders be around. The girl he said he'd loved, and then proven it to that very night. "…Becca?" He begged her to deny it. This was just something to mess with his head, right? It had to be. "Becca?"

She looked back at the warlock who held her strings, looking as though she was asking for something herself. Nothing desperate, just asking permission of her creator. It was worse than simply confirming his fear.

Dean felt like his heart was torn out. His chest was hollow, but with something alien in there, beating as though it could take the place of what had once been there.

"Pretty genius, huh?" The guy grinned proudly. "I mean, there were guys I wanted to get rid of before you, you know. And she's worked like a charm on all of them. I figured you'd be a little more work-aholic, but jeez, could you have made it any easier? Breaking up you and your dad's team was like… It was as easy as sliding a knife between ribs. You know the feeling… right, Dean?"

"Shut…shut the hell up." Dean looked at the warlock with more malice than he'd ever mustered before. "I'm going to fucking kill you." He said, dangerously quiet. He tried to cover his hurt with hate, but he could barely contain it. Finding out she wasn't real didn't just make that feeling evaporate. He felt like she died, even while she was still standing in the room with him.

"Oh come on, Dean. No hard feelings, I'm a nice guy." He slid out lies as though he actually believed them. "Just self-preservation. Same interests as you. And—" Dean opened his mouth to retort, but he continued anyway. "—speaking of those interests, we should probably get to work. Not often I have to dismantle an entire family of hunters."

* * *

Sam stood in the aisles of the gas station on the corner of his street, digging around in his pocket for an extra dime. He nearly had enough change to buy a package of M&Ms to munch on, and he was really desperate to find that ten cents when he walked through the candy aisle and realized he hadn't had breakfast.

He pulled out a penny… a nickel… two nickels. He grinned victoriously and grabbed the peanut kind for a little protein with his all-sugar breakfast, before heading—finally—to the coke products.

* * *

Dean ground his teeth and jut out his chin defiantly as a long, curved knife waved like a cobra in front of his face. "Now, hold still Dean, I'd hate to kill you."

Dean glared defiantly and spat, "Over my corpse, you son of a bitch."

The warlock lowered the knife, looking disappointed at the needless obstruction. "I really do need you to hold still, Dean. How 'bout a trade?" He picked up the doll from the desk, changing the it's hair back to the color Dean had become so fond of.

Dean eyed him and the knife warily, but Becca was suddenly between them and Dean. He turned to look at her, feeling her lips brush over his shyly, seeking forgiveness. "I'm so sorry Dean," she whispered.

Dean turned away from her and she froze there. She was still resting her cheek against his, and he could feel tears run down it. "Dean, I love you." She tried again. "The feelings are still there, Dean, they're still real, I promise."

She kissed him again, a little more forcefully, seeking him out. Dean tried not to respond to her, but the feeling still fired behind his eyes, too. He allowed himself a goodbye kiss. For closure.

It was a fervent, beautiful kiss that tasted like tears and a sweet, small sort of forgiveness but he only allowed himself a moment before turning away again. Any more and he wouldn't have stopped.

The blade slipped suddenly over his skin. "You see, Dean. It's that simple." Over his jugular. Deeper and it could kill; he was probably doing that on purpose to make a point.

Dean felt his face contort in anger, but he didn't give away the satisfaction of a response. Becca stood back with a completely blank look on her face. Bitch. Son of a bitch. The both of them.

The warlock collected a few drops from the new wound into a little silver bowl. "There we go. Now, shall we start with say… Sam?" He grinned, setting the bowl on the table beside him, lighting a match, and speaking over it.

* * *

Sam pulled out a two-liter of Coca-Cola, skipping over the diet and, sadly, the cherry to get the most accurate calculations he could. He closed the freezer door behind him, paid for his purchases, and left the store happily tearing into the M&Ms: his chocolatey reward for waking up early on a weekend.

He didn't even make it home.

He was suddenly struck with a horrible wave of this sickening feeling that something was wrong. Dean flashed in his mind.

He was in trouble. He had to be. Sam just somehow knew it.

Maybe those family death precognition stories on the news weren't completely bullshit.

Not that Dean died.

He wasn't in any danger of dying. He couldn't be.

The Coke bottle hit the ground and the M&Ms spilled all over the sidewalk as Sam took off down the street. He had to get to his brother, before something irreparable happened.

* * *

Mwahaha! I got the 'witch' in there without revealing him yet. I promise, the unmasking will be next chapter. Review if you like the twist!


	8. Not Sucking for Once in his Life

Sam remembered the address from when he'd last sought Dean out, but the house looked exactly the same as every other house on the block. He felt like an idiot. Like a creeper.

But damn it, he had to get in that house.

Something was pulling him toward it. A horrible, irrational fear that just had to be right. He wasn't paranoid, not usually; this was rare and bizarre, and he was going to trust his gut instead of his head on this one.

He'd already circled the house once. None of the windows had the blinds drawn but two, one upstairs and one on the main level. As it was, it looked like nobody was home.

Sam jogged as inconspicuously as he could up to the house and leaned against it, trying to be casual and hidden from the inside all at the same time. He could only hope all the old people who might call the cops were at church on Sunday mornings.

Sam slipped his knife into the window lock, sacrificing his subtlety for speed. There was no way to inconspicuously pick a lock and sneak into a window.

He was going with the main floor pane, as close as he could get to the one with the blinds. Dean was in one of two rooms, and that one was closest. His knife, the silver one that he carried everywhere, wasn't exactly lock-picking material, but he hadn't thought to go home for his tools and he sure as hell wasn't wasting time now. He was well-armed… Well, he had enough, anyway.

The window didn't end up being locked, apparently there wasn't much crime in the area. Sammy stepped into the kitchen sink warily, closing the window behind him and drawing the blinds quietly.

He climbed down from the counter, hyperaware of every movement he made, terrified that the lack of car in the driveway was a false beacon and the house was still occupied. He didn't make a sound hitting the floor with his first heel, but his second caught the edge of the sink as he tried to land, there was a dull thump, but his fear kept him from cursing without him having to think about it.

Sam wound his way through the kitchen and out into a carpeted hallway. He loved carpet; it was always quiet, and one less thing for him to think about as he made his way through the house.

The door with the closed blinds seemed to also be the only door shut in the house. Thankfully, it was similar to the window in its lack-of-a-lock status. That always sped things along.

Sam opened the door and rushed in, closing it quickly behind him before whispering frantically. "Dean?" His brother was dangling with his feet a good foot off the ground, suspended by thick old metal that belonged in an old Salem Witch Hunts movie. "Jesus Dean, hang on." He hurried over, seeing Dean thrash at his coming. God, who knew how long he'd been here?

Dean stilled, waiting for Sam to remove the gag from around his mouth, hoping that he would do that first.

Sam did, and the first thing he heard hit home with a sickening 'thud'.

"Trap." Dean said quietly. Urgently.

Things were going too easily for a Winchester's luck. Sam should have known.

"Hola, Sammy." The tone was cheerfully expectant, and the last thing Sam wanted to hear. "Good to see ya."

He whipped around suddenly, looking fearfully at the owner of the voice, wishing desperately to be mistaken. He recognized it, but it didn't make sense.

"'Bout time, Sam. Have to say, I was getting worried." It was Alex. The freshman he had biology with. Jake's brother. His friend.

"Alex?" He couldn't help the pitch of shock or dismay that came out when he asked it.

Alex grinned. "In the flesh. You didn't expect me to go around in old lady skin, did you? Someone as powerful as I am, slumming around in nursing homes when I could take the place of a nice teenager? There are too many shape-changing spells out there to waste time in an ugly, pathetic husk."

Sam was lost. "You're… possessing him?" Jeez, for how long? The whole time they'd been here, or just now? He was sure the witch couldn't have been a spirit with the way the spells were cast. His brain started to vomit back all the information he'd learned over the last few days, trying to distract him from thinking of the witch as _Alex_.

"No you idiot. I kill them and take their place. I hate starting all over again, coming to town, making myself credible, growing old… Such a hassle. Of course, the down side is that I have to switch shapes every four years when the kid has to go to college or whatever nonsense career they aim for."

He killed a new kid ever four years. More than that with all the deaths he caused otherwise. He didn't do it on instinct or for food like other monsters, but because it was _easy_. Sam started to feel his chest heat up with rage. He was tricked, befriended, toyed with, by this horrible creature that killed for sport.

He was going to kill it.

"How long?" Sam burned with rage at the thought of himself being blatantly manipulated.

Alex made a polite questioning face. "Excuse me?"

"How long have you been Alex?" Sam repeated. He had to know.

Alex—_it_—laughed. "Man, the _both_ of you are stupid, aren't you? The _whole_ time, Sam. You never knew Alex."

Sam swallowed, his mouth tasting sour and his stomach protesting the vile thoughts. "You killed him. And then his brother?" He asked. What kind of fucking _monster_ could justify that? He was building up the rage to attack it. He just needed a little more to block out his fear of dying.

It rolled its eyes. "Of course. Jake knew something was wrong with his brother, even though their parents were perfectly, obliviously happy with an A student." He smiled smugly. "Jake thought it was something along the lines of drugs, I'm sure. So, I simply… created a distraction."

At that moment, Becca Averson stepped forward into the corner of Sam's eye. He tried to turn to face them both, but ended up trying to look left and right at the same time. Sam whipped his head from side to side until Dean spoke behind him. "She's not worth it Sam." He said in a cruel tone that his brother didn't understand. "She's not real."

Sam still looked at Becca, mostly out of shock. So _that_ was how she fit into the big picture. He wondered why Alex was at her house.

He turned back to Alex. His grip tightened on the silver knife in his hand, and Alex's eyes dropped down to it.

"Really Sammy? You think that'll help?" He grinned. "You're better off with a super soaker."

Sam grinned. "Good idea." He whipped the gun he'd stashed in the back of his belt and shot at the warlock. Flare gun. He'd carried it ever since that night at the graveyard.

This time, the flame found the god damned mark.

Anger eclipsed fear. Always. Useful information for these situations.

Sam turned back around to his brother, working furiously at the chains' lock, trying not to fumble with his adrenalin-twitching fingers as the flaming figure behind him screamed.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean was shouting victoriously right into his face, the sound and the chaos somehow bouncing off Sam. He was listening to the thing that was never his friend screech in pain. It was… satisfying. Calming. It somehow made his job easier.

The instant Sam picked the lock binding Dean's wrists, he dropped to the ground and started running, throwing Sam for a minute. He looked back at Alex, as the creature gave a final shout and the flame died around him. Dean threw an entire container of sea salt over the body as he returned from his mad dash to the kitchen. That was just like Dean, to think ahead like that.

And then Sam watched his big brother stop. Frozen, mirroring the look Sam himself got when he didn't want to turn around and look his old man in the eye.

But Dean was a better man than Sammy. He turned and faced was he was afraid of.

He looked down at the mangled ash that was once a beautiful, funny, smart, amazing girl. He tried to come to terms with what had happened: he'd been played. It was simple. But it still hurt so god damn bad.

Sam looked at his brother, unsure of what to do. He gave him a visual once-over, but he didn't seem physically injured. Except… _Oh God,_ Sam thought. There was an odd abrasion over Dean's forearm, like a rug burn. The shape was familiar.

"Dean? Your, um… your arm." Dean looked up at his brother before actually registering what was said and looking down.

Dean saw the red scratched into his skin, in the shape of an elongated heart, looped oddly at the top to form a hole through the picture. Dean remembered her hot, grasping fingers moving in that shape when he'd told her his name… when he made love to her. God he felt like an idiot. He was played like a violin.

He tried to resist the urge to cover it up, tried to make it seem like it didn't mean anything to him. That it didn't make him feel dirty and vulnerable. He _never_ felt like that; after all, he was a hunter, he was plenty strong enough to take whatever they dished out… The sons of bitches.

"Dean?" Sam asked carefully. "You okay?"

Dean looked back at his brother, momentarily forgetting he was being watched. He glued a cocky grin into place. "Yeah, sure. No warlock, no spell. I'm fine." He smiled and looked back at the remains as though they meant nothing to him. Because they didn't.

Sam watched his brother glance back, only then knowing how hurt he really was.

Dean's smiles were sarcastic, angry, smart-alecky, and on a rare occasion, actually happy. With such a wide variety, Dean could always pull off at least one of them… But Sam watched that grin slide off his face the instant he stopped trying, and the instant before he snapped back into hunter-mode, he could see the real hurt in his eyes. Spell or no spell, it was real to Dean.

Both of the boys' thoughts were interrupted by a random 80s big-hair-band classic.

"Dean." Dean whipped his cell phone off his belt and had it to his ear before he could think about anything else.

"Dean? Jesus, at least one of you picks up. The old man around?"

Dean smiled again, almost genuine this time, at least relieved. "Bobby," he greeted happily. "Nah, no clue where he is. Why?"

"'Cause he's not answering his damn cell. The job going okay?"

"Yeah, actually. We just bagged this bitch. You shoulda seen Sammy's shot, picture a 1873 Colt Peacemaker on those old TV gun fights going in slow motion. This was way cooler—" Dean played up the story to his brother's credit. He smiled at Sammy. He could always find at least one more smile for Sammy.

"Wait, you're telling me you just ganked a witch and your old man ain't there?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean paused, taking a moment to drink in the glory. "Yeah."

"You digits! Be careful out there, God damn it. If John knew what you boys were up to… Hell, what'd you even do to get him off the trail in the first place, spike his beer with laudanum?"

Dean's fake bravado faltered, thinking about how he'd gotten his father off his back. "No." He defended weakly. Son of a bitch… had he really said what he remembered saying? It seemed like centuries ago by now. Hopefully Dad would be able to chalk it up to the spell… maybe… It wasn't like he lied.

Bobby steered away from the sore subject, recognizing it for what it was.

"Alright, how 'bout you just let him know the next time you see him that Caleb is calling me askin' for help up in Memphis. I know y'all just finished up there, but he says it's real urgent."

"Yeah… sure Bobby… We'll tell him." Sam watched his older brother hang up the phone. He looked up curiously. "Job in Memphis." Dean answered the unasked question without a prompt.

Sam groaned.

It never ended.


	9. Epilogue

This should have been more surprising than it was.

Dad refused to pick up his phone, and since Dean was sick of him chasing shadows while a real hunt was waiting, he'd gotten Sam to track their father's cell the instant they'd gotten home.

Dad was at O'Malley's.

It was the most clichéd, run down bar in town. And considering he obviously wasn't celebrating the hunt he hadn't heard was over, he had probably been there a while.

Sam followed Dean into the bar, slightly disturbed at his brother's obvious confidence in such places. Then again, Dean really wasn't focused on the _place_.

He made a beeline for the booth with a single, lonely, older-than-he-was-yesterday man.

"Dad." He greeted evenly.

John looked up as his sons both slid into the seats opposite him. Sam couldn't imagine how many beers he'd gone through to give his eyes that sheen.

Dean looked at Sam, wondering how he was taking in the situation, then back at their dad. "Ding-dong the witch is dead, Dad." Dean tried. Dad was looking at him, but he wasn't responding, either stone-cold drunk, or angry and immature enough to give his son the silent treatment.

"Sam, why don't you go get the Impala started." Dean tossed a little clinking hunk of metal into the air, and Sam left obediently with the keys. Dean watched him go. "Sam made a great shot." Dean informed him, no longer caring if the man was listening. "He killed him, if you care."

John said nothing.

"Didn't think so." Dean looked at the man harshly, still angry even without being bewitched. "Look Dad, Bobby called about another job." Even that failed to get the old man's attention. "So why don't you pick up your shit and meet us in Memphis when you get it together." Dean carried the message, like he'd promised Bobby, but that was all he was really up to doing. "I trust we can leave you to clean up the body and bind the son of a bitch's spirit after dark." He wrote Becca's address on the bar napkin and slid it in front of the old man.

Then, as an afterthought, he wrote the word Memphis under it, just in case he didn't remember later.

Sam looked up as his brother came out of the bar alone, scooting over to the passenger's seat. "What happened?" he asked instantly. He was really hoping for a quick fix on this one.

"Nothing." Dean looked at him like he didn't know what he was talking about. "Dad's not ready to drive yet, so he said he'd meet up with us in Memphis. I figured we could get a head start and see if we can't get some details on the case first."

"Oh." Sam's heart suddenly sped up as Dean reached for the dashboard. He watched his brother apprehensively, waiting for the shock, and ultimately, the rage.

Music started blaring, and Dean could only look at the thing of pure _evil_ that had once been his little brother.

"Sam?" He asked, trying to keep calm.

"Yeah Dean?" Sam smiled innocently.

"What. Is. _That_?" He looked once more in horror at his beautiful speakers, currently enslaved.

"The band is called Abba—" Sam started hurriedly.

"No."

"Dean you haven't even—"

"I said 'no', Sammy." Dean switched the station to something else —anything else— before punching in a Bon Jovi cassette.

"Dean we listen to the same five songs over and over and over." Sammy protested angrily.

"Sammy. What's the Impala's number one rule?"

"No legos in the heater." Sam said defiantly, remembering the last time he'd been read the right act of Chevy '67s everywhere.

"Wrong. Rule number one: Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the rule wouldn't hold long after enough puppy-dog stares and dejected reading, but he wasn't willing to argue the point right then. He hadn't really cared about the music; it was just for distraction. Dean probably saw through it, too, but he played along.

After a while Sam waited for a break in his brother's singing and asked, "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"… How urgent is this job in Memphis?"

Dean gave the slightest shake of his head. He knew what Sammy was getting at, and God knew they needed a break. "Bobby said Caleb was asking for help." He answered vaguely. It was a pretty freaking big job if they were teaming up.

Sam slumped in his seat a little. "Yeah, never mind. Wake me when we get there." He muttered in acceptance.

Dean looked over at his little brother, trying to grow up and take it like a man. He screwed up his hair meanly.

"Hey!"

Dean just grinned. For real this time. "Life's a bitch, eh Sammy?"

* * *

There's the last of it. Sort of a quicky job, I'm sorry. But if you've read this far, please at least leave a review that said 'I read it'. Copy and paste that, it's all I ask of you! (Or a real review if you have an over-achievement complex/a heart for a struggling author!)


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